


Hatred Comes With A Price

by B_Uthoughtwrong



Series: The Things I Hate About You [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Agent!Reader, Alternate Universe, Character Insert, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-12-25 16:31:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12039834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Uthoughtwrong/pseuds/B_Uthoughtwrong
Summary: A drabble-y take on the ninth line, technically ninth but actually sixth hated thing, of the poem in the film 10 Things I Hate About You."I hate it, I hate the way you're always right"





	Hatred Comes With A Price

**Author's Note:**

> Typos  
> Sorry  
> xxx

_I hate it, I hate the way you're always right_

* * *

I don't know why it bothered me so much. I mean, what did I expect, he was a Holmes-- _the Sherlock one_ to be exact, and he and I have always been blunt and, to be frank, _hot headed_ towards each other, so why was I feeling like this? Why was I acting like a child who tripped and scrapped her knee? As if I had been monstrously pushed into making these tears stream down my eyes. I know that no one told me to cry... I just, I just couldn't help myself.

 _"Why must you both be so reckless?"_ It started out with me scolding the detective and his doctor partner as they waltz over to me and the ambulance of emergency paramedics attending to victims of the happening. I gave them a look of fury and punched them both on the shoulder.

John chuckled with a whine, _"We're fine, mum."_

I groaned in frustration, "That's beside the point. You both could've died in there! How the hell would I have told Mycroft that his brother along with his partner, blew up to bits on the account _I_ failed to talk sense into them!"

"I think you of all people know that Sherlock would not storm into something he was not sure he could handle." John defended with full confidence the curly haired, trench coated man I glared at with a look of daggers but paid no attention to me.

"And you of all people would know that he has an infinite ego and a damn god complex!" I countered.

John chuckled a sigh, "Yes but _we're_ fine!"

"You could've _not_ been!"

"Honestly, can't you be done with this and just report the success to my idiot brother?" Sherlock dismissed flatly, finally turning to me. I peered up at him with a face burning in anger, "NO I CANNOT _JUST_ REPORT TO MY BOSS! Much less let this matter go because whether or not you two like the fact I care, I _do care_ about you two!"

"And there it is. Isn't that just the problem from the start? You, and _your emotions."_ Sherlock spat with venom as his harsh, ocean blue stare fixed on me like a target. "It's because of your feelings that cause you to act like this. Your distraught emotions and instability will be the death of you. Isn't it your first lesson in spy school to never _feel,_ never feel _anger_ or _joy,_ much less feel _sympathy!"_ He growled as he stepped closer to me, both our heavy pants hitting each other's face.

 _"Sherlo-"_ "Either way you're a **failed** agent because you neither did your mission correctly, nor did you uphold your core value." Sherlock laid the words that stung down easily like it was rehearsed.

"SHERLOCK!" John forced out his name again, but it was too late to scold the detective, he had already done the damage. I knew it wasn't my fault I didn't complete the mission correctly, but for every failed mission, I played a part. What's worse was he was right, I knew he was right, he knew he was right and he knew that it would hurt... at least until he sees me crumble into tears. I clenched my jaw and inhaled sharply. "If I truly am a failed agent, then perhaps I should abort this mission." I spoke coldly, with tears threatening to pour from my eyes. "Perhaps then." Sherlock muttered flatly.

John cautiously called out my name for her knew what it meant. Sherlock paid no attention to the pained look written all over my face and I guess that was good. He wouldn't have to see me start crumbling. I turned to shorter one of the two with a sad smile, "Good night, Mr. Watson." _It was a an honor to have worked with you._ I can only hope I get to work at all after I resign from this crucial job, keeping an eye on the two men who solved mysteries on a basis.

"N-no. Don't." John spoke softly with a painful tone, smirking a little as if he caught I was joking. I clenched my jaw and then walked off, leaving both men silence, one saddened and one indifferent. My first ever failed mission. Time to start my retirement plan.

* * *

"Stop it, it's not funny, even if _you_ think it is." John spoke bitterly as he skimmed through the daily newspaper. Sherlock turned to the man on the couch in the other side of the room, brows knit and lips pursed. _"What?_ What are you talking about?"

"Stop calling out _her_ name as if you cared." John poke from behind the newspaper, flipping the page.

_"What?"_

John, completely full and fed up, crumpled the newspaper as he roughly placed it down on the coffee table in front of him. He shouted out her name, the agent that no longer hung around the flat for she was assigned to keel an eye on Sherlock and him both. "She hasn't been here for days, thanks you your sharp tongue and deductions, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, BUT SHE ISN'T COMING BACK!"

Sherlock knit his brows deeply and tried to make sense of whatever nonsense John was so cross blabbering over. Then it hit him, he had told her she was a failure. He had ripped a piece, though really it was all, of her dignity from inside her being. "Why did you say what you did about her that night?"

Sherlock turned to him, _stunned_ by the reality that was before him. He didn't miss a beat in replying, however, "I simply stated the truth so I wouldn't have to hear her _annoying, endearing bickering."_

 _"Endearing?"_ John muttered as if it were the most perplexing thing in the world.

_"What?"_

"You said _'endearing bickering'."_  

"I **didn't**."

John rolled his eyes with a scoff at the man's reply, honestly not over the fact Sherlock might have gotten their hard-working, non-failure friend fired. "I'm going out."

"Where are you going?"

_"OUT!"_

As the door slammed and as Sherlock was met with the weight of what he had done, he wondered silently if he had called their agent friend's bickering endearing. But then his mind went back to a few moments ago, before John exploded out in annoyance and anger, when the detective had called her name out in hopes she would make him some tea. He liked the way she made the warm drink, it wasn't too sweet like missus Hudson would make, it wasn't too milky like John would make, and it certainly was not bland like he would lazily make. Then all at once, Sherlock felt a bizarre and unholy hollowing in his thorax. He felt dread and guilt amongst all else as he know realized what he had _actually_ done. He hadn't realized at the time this would be the outcome of his wishes for silence that night. He didn't know that night, _which was actually 4 nights ago,_ she actually meant giving up on the _entire_ mother mission, and not just _that_ one. Sherlock clenched his jaw tightly and sank into his chair. He found himself hissing at the wind for not noticing this sooner. After moments of self-annoyance, he caught the solution to his predicament as he cussed under his breath. He got up from his seat and snatched his trench coat, marching down the staircase just as Mrs. Hudson caught sight of him.

"Where might you be going, dearie?"

"To correct my mistake."


End file.
